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That got him up and on his feet. When he opened the door, Neal stood right outside of it, towering over his younger brother who either didn’t care that he was shorter, or didn’t notice. Liam, with more pride than a boy of fifteen ought to have, stared at his brother.
“Mom really wants you at lunch,” Neal said.
“I was already going, big brother,” Liam replied. The edge in his voice was evident as he walked out the room.
Neal. Liam. I wonder what will become of you two.
ONE
“Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.”
—William Shakespeare
LIAM
DAY 1
123.
124.
125.
126.
I counted as I pulled myself upwards. The bars running across the ceiling provided an ample structure for my workout. Ignoring the burning ache in my arms, I continued with my routine. If I disregarded the husky, deep, and howling voices around me, I was able to find silence in my new six-by-eight stone and steel cell. For one hundred and twenty-seven days, I’d drifted from one cell to another in different jails all across the state for my “safety.” But none of that mattered; I was away from her, from my son, from my family. Drifting and working every muscle to the brink of exhaustion, was the only way to keep the last bit of sanity I had left.
No emotion. No fear. That was the mantra I kept while I waited.
“How are you liking your new palace, Callahan?” one of the officers asked as he beat his hand against the entrance of my cell. Without the shackles and steel, his bravado would be nonexistent. I knew that, and he knew it too.
“It seems like you’ve never been to a palace,” I replied stoically as I pulled myself up once again; one hundred and fifty pull-ups, two hundred crunches, two hundred and fifty push-ups…those were my days here.
“Well, that’s what ya get when you murder your wife. The warden wants to personally welcome ya to your new home,” he said, and I wanted bash his face in.
With a sigh, I stretched before I grabbed my shirt off of the dog mat they called a bed. Placing my hands through the open slot of the door, the little prick pressed the cuffs around my wrists harder than he needed to. But if he was looking for a reaction, he was looking in the wrong fucking place. Stepping back, I waited for him to slide open the door before I walked out. It took three of them, all heavy set and balding, to escort me.
“Walk,” the eldest of them stated, as he nodded towards the corridor with his chest puffed out like a penguin. This was nothing new, this was the third penitentiary, and for some reason they all felt the need to prove themselves and show me who was king of this shithole. As I walked, the insults were the same as other facilities, a barrage of noise and threats always came my way.
“Wooo, look at the pretty white boy.”
“Where’s your money at now, Callahan?”
“Callahan, you're my bitch now.”
“You ain’t shit, boy!”
Walking towards the silver steel stairs, I simply ignored them. Everyone was looking for a reaction, just to be noticed. For one moment in their miserable excuse of a life, they wanted to be seen and heard. I wasn’t going to lower myself to their incompetence…I had people for that.
“You better watch yourself, Callahan,” the guard, whose name I wouldn’t bother to learn, said as he opened the steel door for me.
She sat sandwiched between an old organized desk and a wall that was covered in awards, certificates, and medals. She had short red, shoulder-length hair, wore dark framed glasses, and a suit jacket. She couldn’t have been older than forty, and the golden plaque on her desk read: “Dr. Rachel Alden.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Callahan.” She pointed to the wooden chair in front of her desk as she spun around and grabbed my file.
As I sat down, the two guards behind me made sure that their presence was known. She eyed me like a hawk. Her hands were folded, and her body leaned forward as though she was about to pounce.
“Your court date is in twenty days.”
“I’m aware,” I replied.
She frowned. “And your plea has not changed.”
“No.”
“They found your boot with your wife’s blood on it, a call from your house—”
“Am I on trial now? Because if I am, I think you owe me a lawyer.” I leaned back into the chair and relaxed my shoulders.
She took a deep breath before she leaned back as well. “Fine. Would you like to explain why you’re at my facility? Or better yet, why you’ve been to three county jails in the last four months?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Enough, wise guy, or you're going to the hole!” the man behind me barked, as he gripped onto my shoulder.
I glanced down at his hairy hand before turning towards her. “Apparently I’m not very good at making friends…if you want more than that, maybe you should call them up. Or better yet, read my file, after all, it’s right there in the center of your desk.”
“I’m going to make this very clear, if in the next twenty days, you act out in any way, or say anything to endanger the lives of my staff, I will personally make sure that you’re sent to the worst maximum prison in the state after you’re found guilty…and believe me, you will be found guilty with the amount of evidence that keeps falling out of the sky against you. Do you understand me?”
She almost made me want to laugh. Was she supposed to be intimidating?
“Yes, ma’am,” I grinned causing her eyebrow to twitch. “Will that be all?”
She nodded, and once again the two guards put their hands on my shoulders, signaling me to rise.
As I did, I turned back one last time to address her. “I will want a handwritten apology after this is over, Warden.”
“That cocky attitude of yours may have been charming on the outside. But in here, it will get you in trouble, Mr. Callahan. Enjoy your lunch,” she snapped as the door opened.
I could hardly call the shit they forced us to eat lunch, but I didn’t say anything as we headed to the lunch pit. This place was nothing much, just steel, brick, and orange jump suits. There was nothing to look at, and nothing worth noting. I’d been the most exciting thing to step inside the building since Al Capone. The officers snickered as they took off my chains once we reached the double red doors.
“I hope it’s up to your standards, Callahan. Cause it ain’t getting any better for ya,” he said as I bit my tongue to keep from speaking.
Without another word, I headed to the empty back table in the corner of the room. However, before I could even make it halfway through the hall, two men, with tattoos up their arms and necks stood in front of me.
“You can’t cross this way,” the skinhead, covered in tattoos barked in a heavy Chicago accent. The men at his table all crossed their arms, trying their best to intimidate me.
The other man took a step forward. “Or at least you can’t without paying a toll.”
“Really? And why is that?”
Flexing their muscles, they grinned. “Listen you little cunt, this is our house, you best be moving along, or we may have to hurt ya. It only takes three minutes for the riot squad to show up, boy, and we can do a lot of damage in that time.”
More of the crew stood up and that was when I noticed the Jell-O just sitting on the table.
